


A Fear of Falling

by WonderWolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Brief mentions of PTSD, Canon compliant up to Season 2, Christmas Vacation, Fear of Heights, Fluff, Future Fic, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nogitsune Trauma, POV Derek Hale, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Stiles Stilinski is Derek Hale's Anchor, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, The pack is mentioned but not seen, minimal angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 06:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16928517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderWolf/pseuds/WonderWolf
Summary: The pack is on the last day of their 'Third-Annual Hale Pack Vacation' at a ski resort. Unable to resist the chance to spend more time with Stiles, Derek agrees to go on the resort’s ski lift despite his fear of heights.Of course, they get stuck in the air.





	A Fear of Falling

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for my friend, L, who immediately gave me a prompt when I begged for one because I was: 1. mentally exhausted from my current WIP and 2. out of ideas. The thought of Derek and Stiles being stuck on a ski lift was too good to pass up. Thank you, L!

Derek was miserable.

This was worse than almost drowning in a high school pool while a kanima paced along the edge of the water. It was worse than being shot with a wolfsbane bullet and explaining to a high school kid that he was most likely going to have to cut Derek’s arm off.

As extreme as it sounded, this was _worse_ than being forced to listen to Scott McCall wax poetic about the “perfect, unbeatable goddess”, Allison Argent, for the umpteenth time. Granted, Scott had toned it down a lot over the years, no longer feeling the need to gush endlessly about how flawless and amazing his hunter girlfriend— now fiancee— was.

Derek stood by the point though. Which was that today was awful and he was absolutely, undeniably miserable.

It was the last day of the ‘Third-Annual Hale Pack Vacation’. Sometimes it amazed Derek to think that the once small, rag-tag group of high schoolers tentatively saving each other’s lives became the tight-knit pack it is today.

The change hadn’t been instantaneous. It had taken a long time and years of reluctantly being forced together, of communicating through arguments more often than not, and of overcoming deep-seated mistrust, but the end result was worth it.

It would always be worth it.

Although Derek and his pack had had a rocky start, their bonds eventually grew and morphed into something _more._ It all started to change in the Summer of Erica and Boyd’s disappearance. Derek and Stiles had reluctantly teamed up to search for the missing teenagers, even though all the signs pointed to them having run away.

Realizing that the couple had fled to get away from his poor leadership skills had been a blow to Derek’s ego, knocking him down and humbling him. He had expected Stiles to kick him while he was down, to insult him and tell him all the ways that he’d fucked up as an alpha, but that never happened.

Stiles walked alongside him, the two of them roaming the woods for clues for months on end. Eventually, they had found Erica and Boyd, barely alive and at the mercy of a pack of alphas visiting Beacon Hills. All of them— Derek, Stiles, Scott, Allison, and even his long-lost sister, Cora— had worked in unison for the first time, and took down the alpha pack.

They did the same to the darach, and to the nogitsune after that.

The ghost riders.

The wendigo.

The kelpies.

Nemeton 2.0.

The witch.

Now, his once-teenaged pack-mates were nearly finished with college, and they’d yet to face a challenge that they couldn’t overcome or defeat.

Or, they hadn’t, until now.

The metal bar at their waist groaned and bent under the force of Derek’s death-grip, his claws scraping against the smooth surface. This is supposed to be their vacation, their chance to relax and enjoy the outdoors.

What had he done to deserve this torment? To be stuck on a ski lift with _Stiles_ , of all people?

“Dude! What the hell? That’s our safety bar!” Stiles yelped. He gripped the side of the ski lift chair, having the gall to gape at Derek like _he_ was the one endangering their safety.

“You’re swaying the chair!” Derek motioned to Stiles’ legs as they dangled over the edge, kicking back and forth, and causing the chair to move. The short glimpse of skiers below made him want to scream.

He pinched his eyes shut and took a steadying breath, reminding himself that they probably weren’t as high up as it seemed. It was totally normal for people to look like ants on a hill from fifteen feet up, right?

Right?

Stiles’ cheeks, already tinted pink from the cold, darkened to a deeper shade. “I didn’t take my ADHD meds today and we’re currently stuck fifty-something feet in the air, so yeah, forgive me for being _a little fidgety.”_

Derek’s brain ceased functioning. That couldn’t be right. “Fifty feet?”

Stiles’ forehead creased as he eyed Derek with concern, likely hearing the note of panic in his voice. “Yeah, fifty-feet. Maybe more.”

Derek’s stomach rolled. He thought ski lifts were only twenty above the ground. Twenty-five at _most_.

“Are you okay? You kinda look like you’re going to throw up. Please don’t throw up. I’m a sympathetic vomiter, and I didn’t eat breakfast this morning, so it’d probably burn a lot.” Stiles’ eyes widened and he smushed his body against the opposite side of the chair. It was a clear attempt to put as much distance between the two of them as possible, which wasn’t much space at all, considering they were in a ski lift chair designed to hold no more than two people. “Plus, I think it’d be considered a projectile weapon if it landed on any bystanders from this high up.”

“It would not be a projectile weapon, Stiles. Christ.”

“Don’t be so sure! What did you have for breakfast today, hmm? It wasn’t something light like oatmeal or yoghurt. I saw you scarf down at least five waffles and a handful of sausage links. And that isn’t counting seconds,” Stiles said, eyes glazing over at the memory. “You werewolves eat so much, how the hell do you look like there isn’t an ounce of fat on you? It isn’t fair to us mere mortals. Not fair at all.”

“You could try working out,” Derek replied, forcing back a smile as Stiles’ head whipped towards him, perfect cupid’s bow lips parted with indignation. Derek quickly redirected his gaze to stunning brown eyes, not needing to focus on Stiles’ mouth any more than he already did.

God, he was pathetic.

“I workout!”

“Oh?”

“I ran three miles when I was chased by the griffon last week, that’s cardio _and_ endurance. I’m almost constantly having to carry yours— and Scott’s— unconscious, heavy asses out of trouble, that’s weight-lifting.”

“Don’t forget the weight of your ego you carry around,” Derek deadpanned.

Stiles guffawed, face lighting up in the way it always did whenever Derek made a joke. Warmth surged through his chest, a feeling of happiness and sense of pride settling in his bones at having elicited that response. He ducked his head to hide his pleased smile.

After the nogitsune had possessed him, Stiles had been much more subdued and impassive, showing no interest in anyone or anything anymore, like he’d lost that spark of life inside him to make room for PTSD and nightmares. Derek had understood that particular feeling of apathy all too well and had invited Stiles to stay behind after the end of a weekly pack meeting. They stayed up all night talking, though it had been Derek who rambled endlessly that time, determined to be the voice when Stiles’ was gone.

Baring himself and his struggles to his pack-mate had been one of the most difficult things he’d ever done, but it was worth it. They eventually fell asleep, though it had reached the late morning hours before their eyes closed.

When Derek woke up, it was to find a small ‘thank you’ note signed and folded on the coffee-table.

He still had it, the small reminder of that night perched on the small nightstand beside his bed.

“Please, any ego I had died the day I joined a pack of hot-as-fuck werewolves,” Stiles said.

Derek shrugged, forcing an air of nonchalance he hoped didn’t look as fake as it felt. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. I think you fit in with us just fine.”

His panic from earlier had calmed down, eased just by the sound of Stiles’ voice and laughter.

Stiles’ eyes narrowed and head tilted calculatingly, as though noticing something was off, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was.

He _had_ to know.

They had never talked about it, but he suspected Stiles knew he was Derek’s anchor, knew his voice would be soothing. It was the unspoken elephant between them, never acknowledged nor mentioned, but there was no way Stiles wasn’t aware of it. He was the smartest person in Derek’s pack: the researcher, the one who knew all of the answers— and if he didn’t, he searched tirelessly until he found them.

He _must_ know how Derek felt about him. It was obvious, practically visible from space, if not farther.

In fact, it was so evident that even _Scott_ had picked up on it. Not that Scott was dumb, because he wasn’t, but he had trouble noticing anything or anyone else when Allison was in the room. Simply put, he wasn’t really invested in relationships other than his own.

Apparently, Derek was the exception to that rule, or perhaps Stiles was. To Derek’s endless chagrin, Scott had almost instantly taken notice of his deeper feelings for Stiles and had been sending him obnoxious winks over Stiles’ shoulder or trying to surreptitiously get them to date in a myriad of unsubtle and awkward ways. Not to mention all of the times he’s caught Derek brooding in a corner and clasped a hand on Derek’s back, murmuring encouragements such as, “Just tell him how so feel, bro.” like he was an old man offering a young whipper-snapper age-old advice.

As if it were that simple.

It wasn’t.

Derek was the alpha, he was responsible for his pack members. No matter how strongly he felt, he refused act on it, refused to pressure Stiles into a relationship he may not want or be ready for. Every time he returned home from college break smelling like other people, drenched in the scent of strangers, it felt like physical cuts to his skin: aching and burning, but leaving no visible scar and nowhere near deadly.

Like papercuts.

Handfuls and handfuls of papercuts.

If Stiles wanted more, he’d have to make the move, and it was becoming clearer every day that that wasn’t going to happen. Stiles didn’t want a relationship with him, and Derek had to accept that.

He would. In time.

Moving on was easier said than done when he was in love with someone who was part of his pack, who he had to remain in contact with, and who he would go on vacation with every Winter and Summer. As much as he loved spending time with his pack, while his feelings grew over the years, so had the pain of being around Stiles. At this point, the ‘Third-Annual Hale Pack Vacation’ was best described as ‘bittersweet torture’.

It wasn’t healthy. These past few months, he’d been considering trying online dating thanks to Erica’s near-constant pestering for him to “get his grumpy ass laid already”. He’d downloaded Tinder and OKCupid, but hadn’t made a profile… yet.

He was working up to it.

Without warning, the ski lift jolted forward, chairs rocking side-to-side ominously when the cable halted its movement once more.

Derek scrambled to secure himself, his claws gouging marks into the metal. Stiles, seemingly unbothered by the peril they were in, eyed him with blatant curiosity.

“Derek,” Stiles said slowly, dragging his name out with a playful tilt to his lips. “Are you afraid of heights?”

“No,” Derek said through a clenched jaw.

Stiles’ face split on a wide grin. “Oh my god, you are! But why? You’re a werewolf; even if you did fall from here, you’d survive.”

At the mention of falling, Derek _felt_ the blood drain from his face. They both winced at the sound of his claws digging deeper into metal.

“Okay, okay, ix-nay on the alling-fay. Got it.” Stiles raised his hands placatingly. “But my point still stands.”

“I might survive, but that doesn’t mean breaking every bone in my body at once doesn’t _hurt_ ,” Derek snapped, remembering past experiences that were… less than pleasant, to say the least.

He felt a pang of guilt for his harsh tone, but could anyone really blame him for being irritable? They’d been stuck in the air for twenty minutes already, the chairs were _still swaying_ , and there was no end in sight.

“Okay, fair enough. But why didn’t you say anything before we got on this thing?” Stiles asked, limbs flailing in exasperation, which only exacerbated the chair’s movement. Derek sucked in a sharp breath. Stiles didn’t seem to notice, his eyes averted and lips turned down.

They both smelled sour, like unhappiness and anxiety.

“If you’re so afraid of heights, why did you even come?”

Although it sounded like an accusation, Derek recognized the tightness around his mouth, the slight hunch to his shoulders. He felt guilty. Derek was here, stuck in the air and forced to face one of his biggest fears, simply because Stiles had asked him to.

Stiles had been excitedly jabbering on the past few days about how much he wanted to see the view of their resort from the highest point of the mountain. Initially, Scott was supposed to go with him, but then Allison sprained her ankle on a ski jump and he’d refused to leave her side. Erica and Boyd were… _enjoying_ their last day in the resort’s honeymoon suite. Isaac had met someone yesterday and was going on a date with them today, meanwhile Lydia and Jackson were going ice skating.

Which meant, if Derek didn’t go, Stiles would have to go alone.

And the thought of Stiles feeling lonely while on _vacation_ , sitting at the top of the mountain by himself, was more upsetting than the thought of facing his fear of heights.

When Stiles had asked him if he wanted to go with him, his shoulders had been hunched with defeat, as though he’d already assumed Derek would say “No.”

As if Derek would have passed on the chance to spend the day with him.

“I came because you asked me to.” He didn’t— _couldn’t_ — regret that decision.

The cable momentarily jolted again. Derek clenched his eyes shut.

Okay, maybe he regretted it a little bit.

At the unexpected feeling of Stiles’ bare skin on his clawed hand, he blinked his eyes open. Stiles’ gloves rested in his lap, his hand a warm weight over Derek’s.

“Take it easy, big guy, unless you want to explain this damage to the employees,” Stiles said calmly, easing Derek’s fingers from the metal. There were multiple punctures left behind, but they thankfully shouldn’t be too noticeable from a few feet away. The ski lift operators likely wouldn’t spot them.

After his claws receded, Derek frowned, puzzled as the warmth of Stiles’ palm remained on top of his own.

“I could’ve come alone, you know. I get that you guys think I’m a ‘poor, fragile human,’ but I can handle myself just fine,” Stiles said with annoyance, though he still didn’t let go of Derek’s hand. His thumb rubbed circles into Derek’s skin, a soothing movement he didn’t seem to be cognizant of doing.

“I know you can,” Derek softly reassured. Stiles’ grip tightened.

“Then why— motherfucking shit!” Stiles groaned as his gloves plunged downward into the snow. He whined, sagging back into the seat. “Dad’s going to kill me. Those were expensive.”

His hands were back in his lap and Derek’s hand felt unusually cold from their absence. Without hesitation, Derek pulled his gloves from his jacket pocket. Although he didn’t need them, since werewolves run hot and his body would heal long before frostbite could set in, he’d brought along a pair of gloves— and a hat— just in case.

Stiles could be quite clumsy and forgetful.

“What,” Stiles said flatly, as Derek pulled Stiles’ hands towards him and eased the gloves on, one hand at a time. Stiles’ expression was carefully blank, his scent giving nothing away, though his heartbeat skipped.

That wasn’t unusual though, his heart was always a little too fast and skipping occasionally, it was a side-effect of his medication. Although, he said he hadn’t taken his medication today, didn’t he?

Stiles tugged his now-gloved hands out of Derek’s grip, watching Derek with rare hesitation and wariness.

The sudden silence was deafening.

Derek’s heart clenched painfully and his fingers clenched on his lap. He hadn’t meant to make the situation uncomfortable, he just—

“You can’t keep doing shit like that,” Stiles said with a disapproving frown. He turned his head away, but Derek could see the way he pressed his lips flat in displeasure.

“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t.

Stiles clenched his jaw. He turned back towards Derek, eyes alight with hurt. “It’s not fair to me, Derek. When you do shit like that, it—” he stopped and took a breath as if to steady his resolve. “It makes it really hard not to love you.”

“I’m sor—” Derek froze mid-apology, eyes widening. He couldn’t have heard that right. “Wait, _what?”_

“You heard me, you asshole.” Stiles jabbed a gloved hand at his chest. Derek glanced between Stiles’ hand and furious gaze, bewildered at the unexpected turn of events. “I’ve accepted that you don’t feel the same for me, but how am I supposed to get over you, when you pull shit like this?!”

His arms flailed as he ranted and Derek leaned back to avoid being hit.

“Pull what shit?” Derek asked defensively. It _seemed_ like Stiles was confessing his love for him, but the anger and hostility were sending mixed messages. Did he think his feelings for Derek were… a bad thing?

“This!” Stiles exclaimed, gesticulating to the chair they were on. Derek bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from reacting as Stiles’ frantic movements caused them to rock. “ _You!_ Bringing an extra pair of gloves, even though you don’t need them. Coming on a ski lift with me, despite being petrified of heights—”

“I’m not _petrified—_ ” Derek’s mouth shut at Stiles’ threatening look.

“ _You_ putting gloves on my hands like I’m some dainty woman and you’re my rich suitor and we’re in some Victorian romance film—”

_“What.”_

“You’re trying to seduce me!” Stiles shouted, loud enough to draw curious glances from the people in the chair ahead of them.

Derek gaped at him, a little overwhelmed by the outburst. Stiles’ ears burned red.

Clearing his suddenly dry throat, Derek rasped, “Is it… working?”

“Is what working?” Stiles frowned.

“The, uh, seduction?”

Stiles’ eyes bored into his, as though waiting for the punchline. It never came. His lips pursed and he turned away, trying to play coy even as a smile tugged at his lips.

“Yeah. It is,” he said. He swung his legs and twisted his hands, restless with renewed energy. Even as he rocked the chair, Derek couldn’t find it within himself to be mad. Although, he did tightly clutch the safety bar.

Just in case.

“It’s been working for a while, just so you know,” Stiles said, voice soft. There was a small smile on his face as he looked back at Derek, and despite having seen him smile hundreds of times before, this was new one.

And it was just for him.

“Me too.” Derek tentatively reached for his hand and Stiles met him halfway.

“You fell for your seductions too?”

Derek rolled his eyes.

Stiles grinned mischievously, catching Derek’s hands between both of his to prevent him from pulling away. Admittedly, Derek wasn’t trying very hard.

“When did you realize…” Stiles’ voice was unsure, his eyes focused on their hands. His lips moved on silent words and Derek’s heart lurched at the realization that he was counting. He was trying to reassure himself that he hadn’t heard wrong, that this was real.

It wasn’t unusual for him to doubt himself or to question what was reality. The doubt was a lingering scar from his traumatic experience with nogitsune. Counting fingers, ensuring that there were ten fingers and _only_ ten fingers, was the easiest way for him to discern reality from imagination.

Derek spread his fingers to make it easier. “A long time ago.”

Stiles stopped counting. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s not my place, as your alpha. I would be pressuring you.”

Stiles removed a glove and entwined their fingers, huffing a laugh when Derek immediately shoved the glove back in his pocket.

“You would never pressure me,” Stiles murmured. He shuffled his body closer and rested his head on Derek’s shoulder.

“Why didn’t _you_ say anything?” Derek questioned.

Stiles shrugged, his smile going lopsided in a way that hurt to look at.

“I figured you weren’t interested. You, more than anyone else, know how much I’ve been through. You know how fucked up I am. How damaged.” Stiles’ throat bobbed as he swallowed, scent going sour.

Derek detangled their fingers and reached up to frame Stiles’ cheeks with his palms. He leaned in, moving slow enough to allow Stiles the chance to pull away. He didn’t. Instead, Stiles closed his eyes and pushed forward, bringing their lips together.

It was a gentle kiss; soft, warm, and _right_.

Derek pulled away, lips skimming along Stiles’ jaw to whisper in his ear, “I, more than anyone else, know how strong you are.”

Stiles shuddered and leaned back with wide eyes, his pupils expanding. “If they don’t fix this thing in the next five minutes, I’m giving you a handjob in the air. I don’t care who sees. I need to get my hands on your dick. I’ve been waiting years for this, Derek. _Years!”_

Derek’s dick twitched in his pants, apparently in agreement with Stiles’ plan. Derek’s brain, however, was not. “You’re not giving me a handjob while we’re fifty feet in the air and _in public!”_

“You’re right. It’s too cold and we don’t want any unfair judgements. What about a blowjob?” Stiles asked, moving closer, his hand caressing the thick snow pants covering his cock.

Derek groaned, his head tilting back and hips pushing up slightly into his palm.

Forget heights, _Stiles_ was going to be the death of him.

It had never crossed Derek’s mind that being stuck in a ski lift chair dangling fifty-something feet in the air would be anything but a horrifying experience. Yet, sitting here with Stiles pressed against him, smelling of pure contentment and cackling as Derek surged forward to kiss him, Derek could only think one thing:

He didn’t want to be anywhere else.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in one day, frantically trying to make the deadline for this event. I was aiming for pure fluff, but my brain apparently _refuses_ to let me write that. This is close enough, right? ;)
> 
> You can find me [here](http://teenshmolf.tumblr.com).
> 
> Consider leaving a comment or kudos if you enjoyed reading. (Read: Please validate my decision to spend a whole day writing this ha ha... I'm gonna go rejoin society now).
> 
> Happy holidays, everyone <3


End file.
